


It's a Bit Nippy

by hautesauce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, but mostly crack, mild smut completely eclipsed by crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hautesauce/pseuds/hautesauce
Summary: Dean and Castiel should probably stop using their words before things get awkward. Really awkward.This is shameless crackfic and I will not apologize.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [AliceZero](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceZero/pseuds/AliceZero) for the ideas and encouragement!

“Thank you for asking me to come along with you, Dean,” said Castiel appreciatively from his spot in the passenger seat of the Impala.

“No need to thank me, Cas,” replied Dean, eyes on the highway. “I should be the one thanking you. Sammy may be sick, but the world still needs saving, you know what I mean?”

Castiel hummed in agreement, nodding as he looked out the window, watching the world fly by.

Dean was dressed in a charcoal suit and tie, and Castiel had mentally noted that he looked very fine indeed. The thin purple stripes in his tie made the gold in his green eyes pop, causing the angel’s pulse to flutter. He always relished the opportunity to see Dean dressed in this manner; it may not have been practical, but it suited him. He’d tried to flirt with Dean over the years, but never seemed to get it right. Dean seemed impervious to his wiles, if they could be called wiles. Now that he was alone with his human, Castiel wanted nothing more than to wrap his hand around that tie and close the aggravating distance between them once and for all.

Dean glanced at Castiel, who stared out the window with a thoughtful gaze. Dean loved Castiel’s open wonderment, the small smiles he made when he discovered yet another new facet of God’s creation, the glow of his fierce blue eyes when he saved Dean yet again from certain death. He was alternatingly the gentlest and the most badass being he’d ever met, and both versions stoked a searing heat that burned from his cheeks to his groin. He was straightforward, almost overly literal. Dean had tried flirting over the years to no avail; everything seemed to ricochet right off the angel. Dean had resolved to keep his feelings to himself lest he lose Castiel completely, but honestly he wanted nothing more in that moment than for Castiel to grab him by the tie and claim him right then and there.

Dean cleared his throat and opened the window ever so slightly to help erase the crimson tell creeping across his cheeks. The fall air was chillier than he anticipated, and it caused him to shiver. He reached down and took swig of coffee from his travel thermos.

“It’s a bit nippy out there,” mentioned Castiel absently, still staring out the window.

Dean nearly spat coffee across the dash, but choked it down instead. “Come again?” he said with incredulity.

“It is cold,” replied the angel flatly.

Dean smirked. Clearly his angel was experimenting with turns of phrase, and true to form wasn't getting them quite right. It was cute, endearing even. He decided to let it slide.

“Listen, Cas,” he said, changing the subject. “I made us new badges. No more Agent Beyonce shit. You need people to take you seriously.” He glanced at Castiel. “Why did you even pick that name, anyhow?”

“You always pick names of artists you enjoy,” Castiel replied matter-of-factly. “Why should I be any different?”

Dean snorted. “You like Beyonce?!”

“I take it you don’t?”

“I just never pegged you for a pop music fan.”

Castiel took out his cell phone, swiped at it a couple of times, and tinny music started piping out. The angel bopped his head slightly and softly hummed along.

 _Remember those walls I built?_  
_Well, baby they're tumbling down_  
_And they didn't even put up a fight_  
_They didn't even make a sound_  
_I found a way to let you in_  
_But, I never really had a doubt_  
_Standing in the light of your halo_ _  
I got my angel now._

Dean redirected his eyes back to the road. “The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess.” Against his wishes a half smile eked out. “You still can’t be Agent Beyonce, though.”

“Then who am I?”

Dean dug into his jacket pocket and produced a badge. “Here ya go, Agent,” he said, tossing it into Castiel’s lap.

Castiel flipped it open. “Agent Angel?” he said with a scoff. “This is better?”

“What? It’s a name! Better than Beyonce!”

“Isn't it a little too... on the nose?”

There it was again, another turn of phrase. The angel was trying, he had to give him that. “Cas, ‘Agent Beyonce’ isn't even on the face.”

“Whose face?”

Dean chuckled as he took the exit into the city.

Their case in question involved a suspicious death. Well, to be fair, it wasn't the death that was suspicious. The suspicious part was that the body disappeared from the funeral home, in the middle of the night, and the mortuary attendant who had been working overnight was found incapacitated and missing his clothes. The supposedly dead man was gone, having left his burial suit behind, neatly folded atop the casket.

They arrived at the funeral home to question the director and attendant. The door was locked, so Dean knocked. He turned to Castiel and asked, “You ready for this?” Castiel responded with a curt nod. After thirty seconds with no response, Dean knocked more aggressively. Finally, a short, pale man in a dark suit opened the door looking disgruntled. They reached into their jackets and produced their badges. Dean was pleased that Castiel had managed to hold his right side up.

“Good morning, I'm Agent Mann, and this is my partner Agent Angel.”

Castiel shot him a curious look.

“Look,” said the man with hostility, I have already spoken with the police and I'm--”

Castiel stepped forward to prop open the door with the flat of his hand. “My apologies, sir,” he soothed. “Sometimes, when my partner bangs, it's a lot harder than it needs to be.”

Dean swallowed a gasp as his eyebrows threatened to crawl off his face.

“Are you the funeral director?” Castiel probed politely.

“Yes, uh…” replied the pale man, taken off guard. “Why don't you, uh, come in?”

“Thank you,” replied Castiel, stepping across the threshold. “I'm glad you answered, because Agent Mann might have tried coming in the back door,” he turned and nodded to Dean, “prematurely, obviously.”

As they walked into the parlor, Dean could hear Castiel conversing with the director, but his mind was far away. What the hell was Castiel doing? He couldn't help his gaze from traveling up and down the length of Castiel’s fine physique as he parsed his phraseology, and a tingle started to spread up his spine.

They took seats in the waiting area, surrounded by subdued white florals. Dean sat on one of two upholstered chairs set up facing a matching sofa. The director sat across from Dean. Castiel sat… on the arm of Dean's chair.

Dean shot Castiel a wide eyed, pointed look that he didn't seem to notice.

“Like I told the police,” said the director, “we don't have video surveillance. I found Ivan out cold in the basement lab where we prepare the bodies. He doesn't remember anything. I gave him the day off, considering his head injury and everything.”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to get his feet under him. “Have you noticed anything strange or out of the ordinary?”

“You mean besides the missing body?” the director asked with condescension.

“What my partner means to say is,” interjected Castiel, “did you notice any strange smells? Sulfur? Cold spots?”

“There are a lot of weird smells around here, Agent Angel,” muttered the director.

“Heh, yeah, that’s true,” chuckled Dean nervously.

Castiel leaned into Dean, pressing his hip into the hunter’s shoulder. Dean went rigid in the chair and stammered, “We’re just, uh, t-trying to cover all our bases.”

Castiel nodded solemnly. “Agent Mann is just doing his due diligence. There are a lot of balls in the air pertaining to this case and we’re just trying to keep a firm grip on all of them.”

The director squinted in understanding. “I suppose you’d like to see his casket.”

“That would be exceedingly helpful, thank you,” responded the angel gratefully. The director rose and Castiel followed, leaving a cold vacuum against Dean’s arm. Dean remained in the chair, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. Could Castiel not see what he was doing to him? Was this the Agent Beyonce shakedown? Listening to Castiel so cavalierly discuss back doors and firm grips was more than getting under his skin. Every comment rolled through Dean’s mind like a freight train, obliterating all rational thought and releasing the contents of his well-guarded spank bank to run amok amongst the rubble.

“Agent Mann, you coming?” Castiel called out behind him in a very no-nonsense tone.

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Dean mumbled under his breath as he rose and followed into the next room.

The second room was filled with caskets in many shapes and sizes. There were small ones, large ones, all wrought in beautiful shades of maple, mahogany, oak and cherry.

“Wow,” gravelled Castiel as they moved through the room. “Impressive selection.”

“Best in the state,” bragged the director.

“Uh, which type was the body in question resting in?” asked Dean, trying to approximate something close to useful.

The director looked around. “Well, the actual casket went with the police, but it was one of those,” he said, gesturing to an enormous and ostentatious mahogany casket with brass hardware and decorative scrollwork. Dean walked over to lift the lid but Castiel slid in front of him and beat him to it.

“Here, let me,” he said dryly. “This may be more wood than you can handle.”

Dean’s brain screeched to a halt. “ _What is going on!_ ” he exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his hands out to either side like a man at a mark.

The director and Castiel looked at one another with raised eyebrows and then back to the sweaty, wild-eyed man, clearly at the end of his rope. Dean’s chest was heaving, and his gaze kept darting back and forth between the angel, the funeral director, the casket, and back again.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Agent Mann, are you okay?” he asked, a genuine flicker of concern ghosting across his previously impassive face.

Dean took a deep breath, and then ran a sweaty palm through his hair. _Keep it together, Dean. They’re just words. Silly, stupid words, and the angel doesn’t know any better._ He gave his head a small shake to clear visions of Castiel pressing him up against the casket, palming him through his trousers, but was unsuccessful.

“I’m fine, no problem,” he grunted. “Let’s just check out the damn lab.”

They headed downstairs to the prep room. There were standard refrigerators for the corpses, metal prep tables, everything one would normally find in a funeral home. The director gestured to the floor.

“This is where I found Ivan, out cold. The best the police could tell, he was hit with one of our urns. One of the miniature pewter ones, for economical funerals.”

“Well,” Castiel mused, “it’s not the size that matters, it’s how--”

“Do _not_!” interrupted Dean, back to peak fluster once again.

“Agent Mann…?” squeaked the director with confusion.

“I need some air,” barked Dean. “Angel? I’ll be outside when you’re done here.” With that, he turned and stormed toward the stairs.

“He always like this?” asked the director with concern.

“Sometimes,” smirked Castiel.

“How well do you know him?”

“In the biblical sense,” he declared, deadpan.

Dean spun around and ducked his head in Castiel’s direction, unable to form coherent words. His face was searing, his mind throbbing with a profound sense of cosmic unfairness. He knew he had to get out of there before he said something, did something that couldn’t be undone. He whipped around and practically ran up the stairs and through the parlour, blowing the doors open and jogging into the parking lot. He marched up to the Impala and put his hands on the hood, tipping his head down to catch his breath and clear his swimming vision. He could feel himself painfully hard, a dull ache pressing against his zipper. He was so disappointed in himself; he’d just wanted to spend time with his angel, to enjoy this one small thing, but his mind was trash in a hormone-flooded gutter. “Dammit, Cas,” he whispered hoarsely to himself. “Why do you have to be so fucking adorable?”

“Hello, Dean,” came a familiar growl from behind him. He spun around to see Castiel but a few feet away, a tiny smile dancing across his face.

Dean struggled for the words, and could only muster a soft, “Cas?”

“Did you appreciate it?” asked Castiel with a twinkle in his eye as he took a step toward Dean. Dean made a move to back away but was pinned against the front of the Impala.

“A-Appreciate what?” he stammered.

Castiel was nearly upon him, mere inches away. “My flirting,” he said, voice sultry and low. “I have been practicing in the hopes you would finally notice. Your rapid heart rate and heavy breathing indicate that you have.”

Dean gulped. “F-Flirting?” he asked incredulously. “That was you… flirting?”

Castiel bit his lip ever so slightly. “I researched a concept called double-entendre. You never seemed to notice before, but I believe now I have your attention.” He leaned in slowly, almost haltingly, lining up to press a kiss into Dean’s quivering mouth but then stopped. Dean could see real fear in his huge, blue eyes.

“Are you for real?” murmured Dean incredulously, pulse racing with excitement and impatience. His arms shot out from his sides and wrapped around Castiel’s neck, pulling him in tightly. Castiel’s cool, plush lips felt soothing against the flush of his face, and more than lust, more than gratitude, Dean felt relief. He sighed into Castiel’s mouth, who smiled in return.

Castiel pulled back slightly, just enough to exhale a whisper across Dean’s cheek. “Dean, say my name.”

“Wait, why?”

“Because I always come when you call.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm destielmixtape on Tumblr, come say hi!


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